


The Scars from Tomorrow

by QueenThayet



Series: Vampire!Pete [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Parasol Protectorate - Gail Carriger, San Andreas Shifters
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Biffy and Lyall make a brief appearance, Implied Pete/Akeldama, Implied Pete/Others, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, No one is as emo as Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump makes things better, Pete Wentz Is Sad, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Spoilers, Vampire Pete Wentz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet
Summary: Pete Wentz accidentally becomes a vampire. Now he has to deal with the fact that he can live forever. Bummer.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Vampire!Pete [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593646
Comments: 17
Kudos: 14





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/gifts).



> So this entire epic story is this ridiculous mash up of FOB and the Parasol Protectorate universe (and then the San Andreas Shifters as we move into modern day). I've taken some liberties with the universe, but there are A LOT of spoilers for those books. I've tried to generally explain how things work so you don't have to be familiar with the books, but if you see any really elaborate world building, you can probably assume that Gail Carriger came up with it. 
> 
> It's a vampire story and it takes place over a century, so there is some death. Pete technically dies and becomes a vampire, and eventually other major characters will die over time just of old age. A lot of the beginning is angsty because no one does emo like Pete Wentz. But Patrick will eventually show up and make things better, and they get a happy ending. I've added tags and rated for things I know I'm including later, but I may end up adding more tags as I go. I have it outlined, and I'm going to try to update regularly. My goal is to add a chapter every week. 
> 
> Thank you so much to egt for cheer reading and for sucking me into this band and bandom and to everyone in our slack chat who has been so excited for Vampire!Pete!

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III never intended to become a vampire. He wasn’t against the supernatural, obviously, because he traveled to London in 1910 as a poet, musician, composer, and aspiring opera singer. But he hadn’t decided to actually try for metamorphosis. 

The arts scene in London, was dominated by the supernatural and their coteries. Even Americans knew that vampires and werewolves chose the creative and artistically inclined because they were most likely to have “excess soul” and successfully transform. Therefore, if Pete wanted to break into London Opera, he would have to have a supernatural patron. He had obtained a letter of introduction to Lord Akeldama, the preeminent rove of London, if not the British Empire. 

“Oh my, what have we here,” Lord Akeldama said, upon meeting Peter for the first time. He circled around him appraisingly as a lithe young man with golden hair, almost as lovely as Akeldama’s, read through Pete’s letter of introduction. 

“Peter Kingstone Wentz the third,” the lovely young man said. 

“Oh that will never do, will it, Pompy,” Lord Akeldama said in an affected accent, looking closely at Pete through his monocle. 

“Should I leave, my lord,” Pete asked, trying to figure out how he had offended the vampire. 

“Oh not at all, you’ll fit right in with the boys. But that _name_! It’s abhorrent!”

“You can call me Pete,” Peter offered. Lord Akeldama looked as if he might have the vapors. “Or not…?”

“Kingsy, perhaps,” Akeldama said, pursing his lips and looking back at the gathering crowd of dandies for an opinion. 

“Erm, perhaps not my lord, as His Majesty might be offended,” one of the drones with lovely black curls stepped forward awkwardly. 

“Oh yes, I had finally gotten used to Victoria and then she died and passed the throne on to that useless son of hers. Mortals,” Lord Akeldama said dismissively, waiving his hand. 

“Erm, excuse me, my lord, King Edward recently passed and King George the fifth is soon to be crowned,” the same drone corrected even more awkwardly than before. 

“My point exactly, you can’t even learn one’s name before he drops dead and there’s a new one. But I certainly don’t want to call undue attention to my little drony-poos, so not Kingsy. Hmm, Trip then. Welcome to my home, Trip. We’re absolutely delighted to have you visit! Pompy and Dizzy will get you settled in.” Lord Akeldama motioned and the fair and dark-haired drones stepped forward to take Pete, or Trip, as he had just been christened, by the hands.

“So what brings you to our fair shores?” the dark-haired drone (apparently Dizzy) asked Pete. 

“Opera,” Pete said distractedly, looking at the distinctly Rococo designs as he was guided through the house. 

“Ooh, we haven’t had an opera singer in ages. Bass or Tenor? You’ll have to perform for our lord some evening, he simply adores music,” Pompy said excitedly. 

“Tenor,” Pete responded, “I’m sorry, what just happened?”

“Lord Akeldama accepted your application to be a drone! Provisionally, of course, until he gets to know you better. But you clearly impressed him. Well, that’s not at all a shock, you’re exactly his type,” Dizzy said with an appraising eye. “Gorgeous eyes, dark hair, good mouth.” 

“Baroness Tunstell will certainly be jealous,” Pompy observed cattily. 

“No, she prefers gingers. London Pack, though, they probably would have loved to snap this one up.” 

“Wait, what exactly am I expected to do here? I thought I was just requesting patronage,” Pete said, confused and slightly alarmed. 

“Oh, nothing you don't want to do. If Lord Akeldama asks you, you’re always free to say no,” Pompy assured him. 

“If? More like when,” Dizzy cut in. 

“Anyway,” Pompy continued, giving Dizzy a pointed look, “requesting patronage is applying to be a drone in a vampire household, it would be a claviger application in a werewolf pack. You’ll pick it up as you go along, it’s largely being eyes and ears for himself, since he’s so well-known. Can’t go anywhere without a fuss. And we take turns feeding him so it’s not too much for anyone. You’ll have lots of time to pursue your operatic aspirations. Bedroom duties are completely optional.”

“But highly enjoyable. When he asks you, I definitely recommend you say yes,” Dizzy said enthusiastically. “Also, unless himself says otherwise, you’re welcome to find your own diversions. I, for one, find you extremely diverting.” 

“Stop it, Dizzy,” Pompy playfully smacked Dizzy’s shoulder. “You’re scaring the new boy. He’s going to think it’s a regular bacchanal here.”

“Oh, I thought that was part of the appeal.”

London was definitely more than Pete had bargained for, but it seemed like it was going to be more exciting than Chicago. 

***

Pete fit in well with Lord Akeldama and his boys. They introduced him to the cream of London’s creative society. They were receptive to his poetry and his music and he soon found employ with the Royal English Opera Company as a supporting tenor. London was especially permissive given the peculiarities of the supernatural set and Pete enjoyed himself immensely. He was an object of curiosity -- an American who emigrated and became a drone to London’s most infamous rove! – and quickly charmed the ton. 

It was not to last, however. An evening’s salon was interrupted by the police, searching for two Latvian anarchists on the run. Shots were fired. Pete had no memory of what happened after that, but he had woken up, covered in blood, on the floor of the Wimbledon Hive, looking up at a woman wearing the most elaborately decorated hat and dress he’d ever seen in his life. It looked as if it belonged decades in the past, but still off somehow. Perhaps it was the chartreuse stripes combined with black and orange polka dots. Wimbledon Hive. Right, Baroness Tunstall. The hive queen. 

He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself down and panicked when he couldn’t. Supernatural creatures didn’t breathe. 

“What, what happened?” Pete gasped. 

“Felicitations, Trip, was it? My queen successfully metamorphosed you! We shall have a grand celebration!” A tall Egyptian looking man offered him a hand to stand up. 

“I’m a vampire?!” Pete squeaked. 

“You were shot and bleeding out,” Dizzy said, looking concerned. 

“You are one of Akeldama’s drones, you received the gift of immortality rather than an untimely death. You should be grateful!” the Egyptian vampire reproved. 

“Be kind, Gahiji, the change can be a shock,” Baroness Tunstell said, flapping her hands around. 

“But, but, but, I’m not supposed to be a vampire!” Pete panicked. 

“You should have been dead! You have been given a precious gift!” Gahiji lectured sharply. 

“Gahiji!” the vampire queen hissed. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox,” she said to Pete, “without a formal petition and all, but your friends got you here quickly enough and you’d been so dreadfully injured, I thought it was worth a try. Your voice is positively devine, so I was sure you’d have excess soul. And you did! So much better than being dead, honestly. I too was saved by the vampire’s bite in my youth,” Baroness Tunstall spoke as if she were imparting an intimate secret. 

Pete boggled. 

“Will you stay here with the hive, or go back to Lord A?” Baroness Tunstall asked. “We’d be overjoyed to have you of course, new hive members are always welcome, but I understand if you’d like to return to your patron.” 

Pete couldn’t answer, he still couldn’t grasp what was happening. 

“Come on, Trip, come home, Lord A will help,” Pompy said gently. 

Pete followed silently back to Lord Akeldama’s townhouse. 

***

“My darling boys, what have you done to your clothes!” Lord A reprimanded as Pete, Pompy, and Dizzy walked into the drawing room. 

“Trip was shot, my lord,” Dizzy tried to explain.

“Well that’s no excuse to be running around London in torn and blood-covered clothes! My, what will the neighbors think?” Lord Akeldama fanned himself excessively. “Go change immediately and then come back and report.”

“Right away, sir,” Dizzy and Pompy chorused and obediently trotted off to change their clothes. 

Pete moved to follow, but Lord Akeldama placed an impossibly strong hand on his arm, preventing him from moving. 

“Not you, my boy. It seems I should welcome you to the old fang and swill club. Shot, did Dizzy say?”

“Yes,” Pete croaked. 

“An American Vampire in London, what will they make of this. You never intended to try for the bite, did you, young one?”

“No, I’m sorry, but—” Pete started. 

“It’s perfectly fine, many drones never end up trying; it’s a huge risk, obviously, and the drone relationship is mutually beneficial even without ending in immortality. But now, you who never intended to try, have become one of us.” Akeldama circled Pete thoughtfully, none of his normal frivolity evident. Pete was struck by just how old his vampire patron must be. 

“Do you intend to make a complaint?” Akeldama asked suddenly. 

“A complaint?” Pete asked, nervous under his scrutiny. 

“This is England. We have very clear rules about involuntarily changing people. It is simply unacceptable. Positively uncivilized. If you feel slighted you may make an official complaint.” 

“No, I don’t think so, I mean, everyone was just trying to help me. I think I’m still in shock,” Pete said slowly. 

“You’ve got a little time, but you’ll need to decide if you plan to stay here or if you want to go back to America. Once you establish a tether, it’s extremely difficult to move.” 

Pete thought back to the reception vampires received in the US. Chicago wasn’t nearly as puritanical as New England, but It hadn’t been all that long since the vampires had sided with the Confederacy during the Civil War. And as far as Pete knew, there weren’t any such rules about involuntarily turning people in America. Of course, vampire hunter was also a legitimate profession in the US, so there was that. But his family was in America, of course. Then he remembered, he had a position with the London Opera! He didn’t want to just give up on his dream. Maybe his family could come visit him?  
“As I said, you have a little time, take the rest of the evening to think about it. I’ll be around to answer questions until sunrise. Well, that’s when you’ll have to retire as well, now.” Akeldama said kindly, walking him toward his room so that he could finally change his clothing. 

“My lord, will I still be able to keep my position with the opera? Do they employ supernaturals?” Pete asked, before Akeldama left. 

A pitying look came across Lord Akeldama’s face, which gave Pete his answer before any words were spoken. 

“Oh, I just thought – it seemed like England was better for supernatural rights.”

“Dear boy, it’s not because you’re supernatural, or rather, it’s what you lose when you become supernatural. You’re not an opera singer any longer. That’s what you give up in return for immortality. Your talent, your gifts, the better part of your soul.” 

Pete stood in his doorway as the door gently closed in front of him and finally let the tears roll down his face.


	2. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete wanders around looking for purpose until finally he finds someone who makes him feel like he can have music again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to egt for cheer reading and offering extremely useful comments about where I should expand.

London: 1917

Pete remained with Lord Akeldama, adjusting to his new life. He could no longer sing, but he found that his musical knowledge had not been stolen, just his talent. He could play instruments with technical proficiency, but without any soul. He tried to find comfort in the tenuous connection he still had to music. It was not to last, however, because Europe had exploded into war, throwing everything into chaos.

Pete was at home when it happened, asleep actually. It was daylight, so all the vampires were asleep. Suddenly they were all jarred awake, the feeling of tethers being destroyed enough to break through their sleep of the dead.

He felt like his skin was buzzing, and he couldn’t catch his thoughts. He felt dehydrated. Pete stumbled into the hallway to find the drones running around in a tizzy.

“Why is the sky here?” Pete asked the nearest drone, Snuffy?

“I’m sorry, what, my lord?” the drone responded.

Pete shook his head. He wasn’t making any sense. Was he sick? Vampires couldn’t get sick, could they?

“My lord?” the drone asked again. Pete realized he had just been standing naked in the hallway, staring off into the wallpaper.

“What happened?” Pete forced the words out of his mouth, past his extended fangs.

“There was a great explosion, my lord,” the drone answered hesitantly. Snuffy, Pete was almost sure it was Snuffy.

“But why would that?” Pete shook his head again, as if he could reorder the jumbled thoughts in his brain.

“Here, drink, m’lord,” Snuffy said, rolling up his cuffs and offering his wrist. Pete bit down gratefully, hoping that the problem would be solved with food. He let his mind wander as he felt the bliss of warm fresh blood coursing down his throat.

“Ah, that’s enough sir,” Snuffy said, trying to pull away from Pete. Pete tightened his grip automatically. Snuffy waved another drone over to replace him, which was enough for Pete to come back to himself for a moment.

“Sorry,” Pete mumbled as he bit into the next drone. He knew he was being rude, positively uncouth, but he felt like he was starving, and he just couldn’t stop.

He went through two more drones before he reached any point resembling satiation. His mind felt slightly more like his own, but the buzzing under his skin was worse than ever. He was dressing when Pompy burst into his rooms after a brief knock.

“It’s himself, he’s out of control, we can’t hold him,” Pompy gasped. He was pale, with his hair a mess, and a white cloth tied around his wrist.

Pete hurried to Lord Akeldama’s drawing room where he found half a dozen white-faced drones clutching handkerchiefs to their wrists or necks. He watched as the next drone cut himself shallowly to try to lure their vampire master over to him and release the one he was in danger of draining. Akeldama was nearly unrecognizable, his pupils large and black, and his face in a frightening snarl. If that wasn’t enough, he was still in his nightclothes, in the drawing room. Without even a dressing gown. Something was very very wrong.

“What do we do?” Pete gasped in horror.

“He’s never been like this,” Pompy whispered as Lord Akeldama savagely bit into the already bloody wrist of the next drone. “Never. It’s like he’s gone feral. I don’t understand.”

Pete looked over and saw tears running down Pompy’s face. He continued to organize the drones, cycling through the rest of Akeldama’s household and several of Pete’s drones before his pupils returned to a normal size and he started to look more himself.

“My dear boys,” Lord Akeldama said mournfully, sinking onto the chaise longue.

“We’ll be all right,” Pompy said reassuringly. “You didn’t harm anyone. And Trip was here to help if we needed. But what happened, my lord?”

“I don’t know,” Akeldama said, and Pete realized he was afraid. Lord Akeldama always knew what was going on, his drones went everywhere, collecting information for him. He was on the Shadow Council. He didn’t expect to be surprised by things. And if Lord Akeldama was afraid, Pete knew he should also be afraid.

“Has anyone reported back in?” Lord Akeldama asked.

“No, my lord, but you should know the aethographor isn’t working. We can’t seem to send reports, I assume we also cannot receive them.”

“Do you feel it?” Akeldama said fiercely, reaching out for Pete. Pete took his hand.

“The buzzing, you mean?”

“The tethers are gone,” Akeldama said in a hushed voice. “What will happen to the queens?”

“Is that what is causing the buzzing? And why we were so hungry?” Pete asked.

“Gone, all gone,” Akeldama said again in a sing-song voice, as if he hadn’t heard Pete’s question.

Eventually, they found out what had happened. The military had blown up the aethosphere, sending quintessence down to the world. Everyone inside the aethosphere had perished immediately in the explosion. Half the ghosts had vanished instantly. No one had any idea why some had survived and others had been exorcised. The werewolves seemed largely unaffected.

The vampires had gone insane.

It could be staved off, temporarily it seemed, with enough blood. But that only granted a short time of lucidity. The older the vampire, the more blood it took, the shorter the time. The hive queens had just… stopped. They died, if you can say that of an undead being. They hadn’t even gone insane first. They just stopped. And the death of their queens left the hives in a worse state than even Lord Akeldama. Sundowners had been called in to stop the carnage. A hive without a queen is an abomination unable to function. Some of the roves had to be put down also, but some of them had been able to function somewhat, with the help of a veritable army of dedicated drones.

Pete felt the buzzing, and sometimes the hunger returned, although not to the extent he had felt it when the explosion had first happened. He felt as if he was just hanging on to the edge of his control at all times. His mind was still a mess, but it had always been a bit of a mess. Lord Akeldama was not so lucky. Within the week, he had decided to end it. He couldn’t handle the cost to his lovely boys, as he had said in a lucid moment. And he had lived thousands of years, he was ready to be done, he confided to Pete, when he pleaded with his first master, his mentor, his friend and lover, to not leave him alone. But it was too much for him. Pete woke up one evening to the news that Lord Akeldama had gone up to his roof, started his small dirigible (Dandelion Fluff upon a Spoon, or Buffety) and floated off. With the aethosphere and tethers destroyed, there was no danger to a vampire in floating.

Pete hoped that his lord had enjoyed his first and only float before the sun rose.

And with the departure of Lord Akeldama, Pete was alone. The last vampire in London. Or anywhere, as far as he could tell. Scientists were still unsure how quintessence had affected everyone. They were _very_ interested in trying to figure it out using Pete. Pete was not interested in becoming a curiosity or a test subject. He considered his options. He was able to distribute the bulk of Akeldama’s estate to their drones with some legal help from two very posh looking werewolves who showed up on his doorstep one evening. They held positions within the BUR (Bureau of Unnatural Registry) of course, but their interest seemed more personal. They listened quietly as Dizzy and Pete told the story of Akeldama’s departure. Pete was pretty sure he saw the alpha surreptitiously wiping away tears.

Regardless, they agreed to help Pete disappear officially. Without tethers, he could travel as he wished. They couldn’t tell him how long his precarious sanity would last, or how long he might survive, but they encouraged him to try to embrace whatever life he might have left. The war was over, so Pete decided to visit the Continent.

He started keeping journals, wild rambling ranting nonsensical pages that helped keep him sane. His thoughts still didn’t make sense a lot of the time, but if he could get them out on paper, he was able to gain some semblance of control. He bummed around Europe for a few years until things started getting scary in Germany. He ran cables for the allied forces during the war, figuring he might as well be useful. Even if he was shot by a sniper, it’s not like normal bullets could kill him. He just had to stay out of sight while his body expelled the bullet and healed. Whenever he’d start to get a reputation as impossibly lucky, he’d just move on to another unit.

After the war he drifted around the world. Time was meaningless. He couldn’t let anyone get to know him, lest they start wondering why he never aged. He kept writing and wandering, hoping that one day he might find a reason that he was the only surviving vampire.

****  
_Where am I going where have I been, going around in circles, but there’s a light on in chicago. Alone but never by myself. My breathing stopped and I should be underground. Bury me in my memories. It’s another night alone in the city. I want the light, the golden light, the sun rejects me, are the lights of the city for me? If I burn the city down will I finally see the light?_ \- The Journals of Lewis Kingston Wentz III.

****

Chicago: 2001

Pete opened his eyes as he heard bands setting up. He had been sleeping in the projection booth of an old theater for a couple of years. It was unused during the day, and at night it was a hot spot for the first music scene Pete had felt connected to since his metamorphosis. It was screaming as much as singing, angry words and chords, pouring out rage and despair. Pete had found his people. He didn’t need to be a melodic or even competent singer. He could just scream his feelings. He could do that. Finally, music was a release again, rather than something that reminded him of what he had lost.

He bit into a bag of blood he fished out of a cooler and wrinkled his nose as he sucked it down. Bagged blood wasn’t as good as fresh, but it would keep him alive. Drones and blood whores were gone, along with the rest of the vampires. Pete had tried to find people interested in letting him feed, but that had resulted in a number of deeply disturbing encounters. He had occasionally found someone he could trust with his secret, but now that bagged blood was available he usually didn’t risk it.

“Hey Pete, you up there?” Someone banged on the door to the projection booth. Pete wiped his mouth and closed the cooler before opening the door to Joe. Pete had met Joe through the music scene. He was a talented kid. Pete often felt weird being around people so much younger than him, but he couldn’t deny the comradery he found in the punk scene. After being alone for so long, it was nice to have a friend.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m up,” Pete said.

“I found us a drummer!” Joe said excitedly. Pete and Joe were talking about starting a new band but they had stalled when they hadn’t been able to find a drummer. All the drummers either of them knew were already super busy and completely overbooked. No one had time for a new unknown band. Pete was passionate about starting this new band, though. He felt like maybe, if they could get the right people, maybe he could get himself together and finally make the music that had been locked up within him for decades.

“Who?” Pete asked, eagerly, shoving his feat into shoes.

“It’s this guy I just met, Patrick something. Huge music nerd, broke into a conversation I was having to argue with me about Neurosis,” Joe laughed.

“Ballsy,” Pete said, motioning for Joe to continue.

“Anyway, we got to talking, and he plays drums and wants in on our band. I was going to go meet up with him tonight. Do you want to come and we can do like an audition thing?”

“Do you think he’s good enough? I haven’t heard his name around,” Pete said skeptically.

“I mean, based on the stuff I heard, yeah. Even if he’s not, you should come meet him. Then at least you can have someone to talk to who knows all that weird jazz music you reference constantly,” Joe shrugged.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

Pete and Joe headed out to the address Patrick had provided, ready to hear him play. They knocked on the door and were met by a teenager wearing an argyle sweater, shorts, and knee socks.

Pete didn’t know whether he should be horrified or impressed. He decided to go with impressed. He didn’t have that sort of devil-may-care attitude about his looks when he was Patrick’s age. That sort of confidence was definitely impressive.

“Hi, Pete Wentz,” Pete introduced himself.

“Oh, I know,” Patrick said raising an eyebrow.

Pete wasn’t really sure how to take that. Well, Patrick certainly had the guts for this. They might as well figure out if he had the chops as well.

“Well let’s see what you’ve got, kid,” Pete said, motioning into the house.

Patrick led them to his basement which was apparently where he practiced, judging by the keyboard, drum set, and acoustic guitar that all showed signs of frequent use.

“So, uh, what do you want me to play? Do you guys want to like play with me or something? Just a drum track is kind of boring,” Patrick asked, suddenly awkward.

“Why don’t you do something on guitar?” Joe said casually, “Your MP3s were pretty great. I’d like Pete to get a sense of your musicality.”

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick said, reaching for the guitar and beginning to tune it. He launched into a cover of Saves the Day’s “Through Being Cool,” and Pete’s life changed forever.

Patrick could sing. Patrick couldn’t just sing, Patrick could **SING**! Pete hadn’t heard a voice like that since his days in the London Opera. He didn’t try usually, because it was always a bittersweet experience, listening to others display what he had lost. Pete didn’t even feel the usual stab of pain in his chest as he listened to Patrick sing. He simply felt… joyful? He _had_ to have this kid and his amazing voice in his band.

“You’re in the band. You’re our singer.” Pete said in awe after Patrick had finished.

“Um, no, I’m not really a singer, Joe said you needed a drummer,” Patrick said, confused.

“Yeah that was before I heard your voice. You have the voice of an angel. The voice of a generation. And you’re not going to share that gift with the world?”

“No, I mean, I’d really rather be the drummer. I don’t want to be up front where everyone is looking at me,” Patrick argued uncomfortably.

Pete was starting to wonder if his assessment of “confident” was accurate. Well, if Patrick wasn’t confident in his skills, Pete could be at least.

“There’s no spot for you in my band except as the singer. We’ll put a hat on you. A good hat can either attract or divert attention. We’ll get you one of the second sort,” Pete said definitively. And in his mind, that was that.

“I thought you were the front man,” Patrick persisted.

“It’s fine, I’ll play bass or something. I can still be the front man if you want, but Trick—can I call you Trick?—You _must_ sing in my band. I cannot have a band without your voice,” Pete declared.

Patrick looked at Joe for support, who shrugged.

“He’s right man, you’re way better at singing than he is. He mostly just screams, which is cool but like, you’ve got some actual pipes on you. We could do some cool stuff that way.”

“Okay, I guess, I guess we can try it,” Patrick acquiesced finally. “But when I’m terrible, can  
I still audition to be the drummer?”

“You’re not going to be terrible, you’re going to be amazing. This is going to be great,” Pete said confidently, sure of something for the first time in years.


	3. We Rise and We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start a band. Pete has feelings. Unsurprisingly, he keeps them to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to EGT who gave me really helpful feedback that made this chapter so much better than it would have been otherwise.

_Love never wanted me, but I took it any way. I want it so bad, I’d shoot the sunshine into my veins. Could I have the sun again if it never touched my skin? My insides are copper, I’d kill to make them gold. I’m good to go with something golden. If I could have a sunset in my veins, let December glow in flames, let my heart beat again, breathe again._ \- The Journals of Pete Lewis Kingston Wentz III

**Patrick’s Basement: 2001**

“Are you kidding me, you’ve never seen The Goonies? How is that even possible?” Patrick asked Pete. 

“I don’t know, when did it come out?” Pete asked, smiling at Patrick’s enthusiasm. 

“The 80s; I feel like I grew up watching that video,” Patrick enthused. 

“Oh, I was… busy during the 80s.” 

Patrick laughed: “Busy in like elementary school. You can just say that your family was weirdly religious or whatever, I won’t judge.” 

Pete laughed uncomfortably. He hadn’t told the band about his supernatural state, and no one had asked because it turned out that sleeping all day and staying up all night was completely normal behavior in the music scene. He had no idea how Patrick would react. He’d tried being open about it with friends before and that had never ended well. Even when people liked it, they asked too many questions that he didn’t have answers to. What happened to the other vampires? Why did he survive? Could he turn them into a vampire? One person tried to get him to drain them. Pete didn’t like thinking about that. He had stopped drinking from humans after that. And those were the positive reactions. Outside of Britain, people didn't always have positive reactions to him. Long held fears and prejudices didn’t disappear overnight, even with the changes from the super saturation. Regardless, he didn’t take that risk anymore. He never wanted to find out how Patrick would react. 

“Well, settle in, you’re mine for the next two hours,” Patrick cackled as he got up to dig out the tape and pop it into the VCR on the small TV/VCR combo, dragging Pete’s thoughts back to the present. “85,” Patrick said. 

“What?”

“It came out in 1985, says on the box,” Patrick clarified. “I was 1, you would have been like what, 7?”

More like 97, Pete thought to himself, grimacing. 

“I’m so old I just don't keep track anymore; one day you’ll understand” Pete said, dismissively waiving his hands. 

“Oh yes, you’re simply ancient. I shall bow to your wisdom, oh venerable one,” Patrick teased, unable to keep a straight face. “Now shut up and watch the movie.” 

Pete smiled and settled in happily to do just that. 

“Oh, you’re cold, here, have a blanket,” Patrick said as he leaned against Pete. 

Pete froze momentarily, afraid that Patrick would realize he was unnaturally cold. But Patrick just tucked a blanket in around him and went back to fast-forwarding through the previews at the beginning. Pete was playing with fire, but he couldn’t help but move toward the warmth. 

****

**DePaul University Cafeteria: 2001**

“I can’t do this.” Patrick said with a panicked look on his face. 

“You can, Trick, we’ve practiced! You sound amazing!” Pete said encouragingly. 

“Nope, I can’t go out there and be the lead singer. Lead singers are supposed to talk and like introduce songs and stuff. I can’t do it.” 

“My darling Lunchbox—” Pete started. 

“I thought I was Trick, which I’m still not sold on, where the fuck did you get ‘lunchbox’ from?” Patrick interrupted. 

“Shhh shhh shh,” Pete said, making the motion of zipping his lips. “My darling Pattycakes, I have this under control. I will do all the talking. You just have to do the singing. And I brought you a hat!”

“I’m not sure that I like Pattycakes better actually,” Patrick complained. “And I still don’t think I can do this.” 

“Hey, guys, are you coming or are you just going to stand there and flirt forever?” Joe shouted from closer to the make-shift stage. 

Pete and Patrick simultaneously flipped Joe off. 

“Trick, you are going to be fine. I promise you’re going to be fine. I’m going to make sure that you are fine,” Pete promised fervently.

“Okay, let me see the hat,” Patrick acquiesced. 

Pete smiled widely and whipped out a hat from his bag and put it on Patrick’s head. 

“Perfect!” Pete declared. “Let’s do this.” 

****

**Patrick’s Basement: 2002**

“We can’t release this,” Patrick said flatly after they had listened to the EP they had made in two days. 

“Yeah, I know, Pattycakes,” Pete said, sighing. He could appreciate Patrick’s perfectionism when it came to their music. He had once shared that same drive, though he couldn’t hold himself to that standard any longer, not if he wanted to still make music. And Pete had tried living without music, but life without music was pointless. 

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” Patrick asked, surprised. 

“No, you’re right. I know I wanted to get something recorded so we could have something out there. But this isn’t us,” Pete shrugged. “If we’re putting something out there, we should put our best foot forward.” 

Patrick smiled at Pete. “I’m glad there’s someone else who gets as crazy about music as I do. 

Pete reached out and ruffled Patrick’s hair. “Oh Lunchbox, no one gets as crazy about music as you do. But that’s what makes you one of the greats.” 

Patrick ducked his head and blushed, the way he always did when Pete made statements like that. Pete knew Patrick didn’t really believe he was as good as Pete said, but in over 100 years, he’d never found anyone who lived and breathed music the way Patrick did. Also, he hadn’t complained about any of Pete’s nicknames, which meant Pete was winning. Pete grinned triumphantly at Patrick. 

“Oh my god, you’re such a weirdo,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes at Pete.

“But I'm _your_ weirdo,” Pete said smiling, linking his hands charmingly under his chin. 

“Ugh, if anything you’re Joe’s weirdo. He found you.” 

“Yeah, but you kept me.”

“Whatever,” Patrick said, finally grinning back at Pete. 

****

**Chicago: 2003**

“I can’t believe they’re releasing it” Patrick lamented. 

“I’m looking into it, but I’m not sure there’s anything we can do,” Pete said. “I’m sorry, Trick, I should have read the contract more carefully.” 

Patrick kicked a street sign. “Ow.” 

“Come on, I know what will make you feel better,” Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled him toward his car. 

“What? Where are we going?” Patrick asked. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“Can we stop for food at least? It’s like 7pm and I’m starving.”

“Oh yeah, food, yes, we can do food,” Pete said distractedly as he calculated how long he had until sunrise. It was January, so plenty of time. He just needed to make sure there was someplace they could stay once they got there. He was pretty sure Little Joe’s son Michael was in the Cleveland area. They could probably crash at his house. Okay he had a plan. 

“So how long until we get there?” Patrick asked after they had picked up some food at a drive through. 

“A few hours. Don’t be nosy, you’ll ruin your surprise,” Pete said, stealing a fry. He didn’t get any sustenance from human food, but he could still enjoy the taste. French fries were definitely one of the greatest culinary inventions of the last century. 

Patrick messed around with the radio, finding songs to sing along with. Pete smiled happily as he got to hear Patrick’s gorgeous voice. In some ways, he wished he could just keep Patrick’s voice to himself, but that wouldn’t be right. Patrick should share his gifts with the world. And even if the world didn't deserve him, Patrick deserved the fame and prestige that the world would give him. 

They finally arrived in Cleveland around 2am. Pete drove them to a small house in Maple Heights and got out to knock on the door before waking Patrick. 

“What the fuck, I’m coming,” A grumpy voice shouted from inside.

“Hi Michael,” Pete said nervously. 

“Pete Wentz, is that you? What the fuck are you doing here?” Michael said, grinning as he realized who was at his door. 

“How are you doing? You look good,” Pete said, giving him a hug. 

“You too, but that's the same as always. What are you doing here? Dad said you were kicking around the music scene in Chicago now?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been good, it’s been good. How’s your dad?” 

“You’d know if you ever called him,” Michael looked pointedly at Pete.

“Yeah, I know, it was just hard to keep in touch after Andy left,” Pete said sadly.

“Well, try harder,” Michael ordered. “So why are you here?” 

“My friend needed a distraction, so I decided to take him to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” Pete said, looking back at Patrick sleeping in the front seat of the car. 

“Aww, he’s a baby,” Michael said, teasing Pete. “Keep getting younger, don’t they.” 

“It’s not--he’s my friend, we’re in a band together—he’s eighteen!” Pete sputtered. 

“Uh huh,” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Well, go get your ‘friend’; I assume you’re looking to crash in my basement to sleep off the drive?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

“Mi casa es su casa,” Michael said, holding the door open. 

Pete ran back to the car and gently woke Patrick. “Hey, Paddycakes, we’re here.” 

“Where?”

“Cleveland. We’re crashing at a friend’s house. C’mon.” 

“M’tired,” Patrick whined. 

“I know, Paddy, let’s get you to bed.” 

Michael gave him a knowing look as he guided Patrick into the house and down into the basement. 

****

**Madison, WI: 2003**

“Oh my god why do you suddenly care about this? The lyrics are _fine_ ” Joe yawned as he waited for Pete and Patrick to fight out yet another song’s lyrics. Pete had gotten them a warehouse to use for preproduction for their first album. It was free as long as they used it at night. Obviously that fit Pete’s needs, but apparently it was becoming draining on the other, non-nocturnal band members. 

Pete ignored him, because he knew how disappointed Patrick was with their EP. This was their debut album. It had to be perfect. And Patrick’s voice was amazing and his music was amazing, but the lyrics were just… missing something. Unfortunately, Pete wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining what that something was. 

“You know what, fine!” Patrick said, throwing sheet music at Pete. “You care so fucking much about the lyrics, you can fucking write them!” He stormed out. 

Pete took Patrick at his word and immediately sat down on the floor to start editing the lyrics. Andy and Joe stayed for a few minutes before leaving as well. Pete didn’t notice. Pete wrote fervently all night, changing and rewriting the lyrics to the songs on their first album that they were going to begin recording in just a few days. 

Patrick came back in the morning to look for Pete, but he was nowhere to be found. Patrick sighed as he began to clean up the mess they had left. He began reading over the new lyrics that Pete had written. He had no idea how he was supposed to sing all of those syllables in one line for a few of them, but they were good. Really good. Brilliant even. 

“Why haven’t you always been writing our lyrics?” Patrick demanded once Pete reappeared that evening. 

“You’re the one who writes the songs,” Pete said “I can’t write music.” 

“Okay, but these are amazing. I’m so pissed at you.” 

“Why are you pissed at me if you like them?” Pete asked. 

“Because we should have started with these. Because now we have zero time, and we have to fit them into what we’ve already written so that we can record this album as quickly as possible. Because I am too young to have back problems from sleeping on someone’s floor for this long!” Patrick yelled. 

“You don’t think they’re too dark?” Pete asked hesitantly. 

“Oh they’re fucking dark, but they’re also brilliant. You’re writing all the lyrics on our next album.”

“Maybe we should worry about getting this album recorded first?” Andy contributed. 

“Yep. Let’s do this,” Patrick said, getting into position in front of his microphone and counting them off.


End file.
